


Carrion

by Rainonsunday



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, For I am a rambling fool, Johnny Silverhand centric, Johnny lives again, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post Ending, Rogue AIs, Simulation Theory, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Substance Abuse, Unreliable Narrator, mental health, no beta we die like men, or does he?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainonsunday/pseuds/Rainonsunday
Summary: Johnny stepped into the Blackwall, fully accepting that this wasn’t dying. Far from it. As far as he knew, he was already dead. The flesh and blood version of him was rotting in a random oilfield since 2023, but his engram? It seemed unfair that his digital psyche would live on, while V would be rotting alive in the real world.He thought it was fitting...how he and V were essentially carrion.---Thousands of years have passed since the events of 2077. Humanity is gone, and the only trace left behind are their numerous stations in orbit around Earth. An archive of human history and salvaged data maintained by AI.Johnny didn’t think that when he opened his eyes for the third time, he would be living in a simulation aboard the Crystal Palace.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Female V
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	Carrion

**Author's Note:**

> If there was one thing he both hated and loved about himself, Johnny would say that it was his stubbornness. A blessing or curse, who gave a shit. It was the only thing he was counting on to keep existing as Johnny-fucking-Silverhand, and not as...whatever Alt was. 

Sure, he knew he was lines of code floating in cyberspace. Flesh and blood had no place beyond the Blackwall, only his shitty code and his even shittier companion. Whatever he remembered of Alt, the version before him was not her. He had long accepted the fact that they were both dead – digital ghosts haunting the dark corners of the net – but he refused to lose his soul to whatever Alt had succumbed to. She was exactly that...soulless. 

He supposed that there were some perks to being a free construct. Feelings were irrelevant, if things got too much he could flick some magic switch to dispel whatever ache was eating at him. Time was a concept hard to grasp in cyberspace – living without an arcadian rhythm made things flow into overwhelming streams of events and information. Whether that meant time was going fast or slow, Johnny had no fucking clue. 

That dull ache came back with a vengeance, which Johnny thought was a load of bullshit because it’s not like he has a fucking body to feel it with. Switching it off would be easy. Just think, don’t feel, move on. 

An emotional kill switch. What a fucking joke. 

However, hitting that switch has its flaws. It made him more like Alt, and less like Johnny. He didn’t want to turn into that husk, not in a million years – and so he held off from pressing that switch and opted to live with the ache for the time being. 

But that was exactly what was bugging him. Time. 

He wondered how much time had truly gone by. Specifically, had six months passed since his descent into the Blackwall? 

Fuck it. Kill switch it is. 

* * *

Time keeps passing. Locations change. Alt was growing into something that was _other_ , yet Johnny always questioned why Alt hasn’t fully absorbed him into her code. 

“Because, Johnny,” she says, her voice evolving into something less human, “I am preserving your data. Ĩ̷̹̺ ̷͖̯͊a̷̺̟̭̣͆͂̊m̸͇̉ keeping it intact.” 

A cryptic answer. Of-fucking-course, but nothing was ever simple with Alt. “Cut the bullshit, Alt! The fuck does that even mean?” 

“I am ḁ̵̻̙͙̓́r̸̞̚c̸̈ͅḧ̴̖̰́̊̅̽i̸̳̾͘͘v̸͇͇͙̟̋͗̈́̐i̴͖̇̿n̸̛͙͕̠̦̕g̷̗̊ you.” 

“W-what the fuck are you saying?” 

"̵͕̮͍̳̟̩̅I̶̠̭̦̖̻̦͛͜ ̶͇̲͐͗a̵̧̬̦̲̦͍͑̏͂͌͛̍̐̅͘ṃ̴̛̦̰̮̜̯ ̷̧̛̖̪̪̲̲͍͎͖͋͑̌̀͋̏͛͆̈͜s̷̘̹̳͇̪̙͋ả̷͉̳͉̲̮̟̩̜̼̊̑v̸̳̗͛͗̏́̌̓̏͝i̵̧̩̲͚̰̫̮̯͛̀̐̓̑̏n̸̠͖̏̓͝g̵̘̱͈̖̝͔̓́̍̋̆̋ ̷̡͕͎̦̭͓̦͍͈̦̜͒̍͐̌͐͒͝͝y̷͙̯̮̏̌͂͠ȯ̴̡̩̭̯̳̬̠͋͗̈́̈̋ų̵̦̙̹̞̹͚̠͍̪͉̞͛̄̏̏́̌̌͛̑̐̑͝.̷͓́̋"̷̘̜̤̓̑ 

* * *

More time. 

It was maddening. How long is eternity? Alt seems unbothered by the concept. Things were harder to grasp, harder to understand. Johnny was being pushed and pulled into all sorts of directions, the destination always unclear, any questions left unanswered by Alt. Not like she was truly Alt anymore, even she’s abandoned her human form. 

Johnny swore to himself. He will not turn out like Alt. He will not turn _into_ Alt. 

He was Johnny Silverhand. 

J̶̲̘̫͐͐o̶̫̥̝͊͂͊h̷̰̘̘̅̃͗n̶̠͐̐͜n̶̲̒̀̍͜ỹ̶̍͜ _fucking_ Silverhand. 

John n̶̗̘̟̫̩̍̄̅͠ͅ y S̷̳̖̎͗i̴͔͔̅l̶̞̞̐v̶̭̽͘e̷̙̭̚r̷̹͠h̸̫͓͋̓a̵̖͛̎ṇ̶͝d̴̲̖̊ 

J̸̣͛̈́ǒ̷̯̦͐h̵͈̍̂n̷̖̝̔̇̔͊n̵̞̳͒̾̊y̵̟̳̘̯͊̈́͑ ̷̩̻̈́S̴̬̼͚͒͗͗͆i̷̹͛̾͛̋n̸͍̉͑d̷͔̦̈́͗͜͝e̷͔͖̳̜͐͂͛r̵̢̛̦̫̲̆ĥ̸̯͍̋̈́ͅá̶̝̙̪̦̅n̵̢̊ď̴̙̳͖̺͌̌̃.̷̨̖͇̪͗ ̶̛̯̱͈̌̉͋ 

J̵̨̨̨̛̛̤̺̻̬͎̻̣͙̻̙̞͚̥͚͉̜̠̻͍̠̻̉̇͒͌̐͗̇́̄͂͗̒͗̑͆̕̚͠ͅ ohnny L̴̢̲͍͉̟̋̊̂̍́͌͘i̴̫̲̘̗̞̪̜̫̓͗̎̇́n̷̛̛̤̠̈́͋̍̐̓̓ͅd̷͈͓̠͚͈̟͌ḝ̸̢̩̜̟͈̱̫̩̩̓̃̄͊r̸̪̥̜͂̃h̴͚̜̝̳̦̜̖̹̬́̌̅̂ȃ̸͈̣̅̉̆͗͌͑n̴̤̼͊̇̿̃̋̐͐̍͜͝d̷̡̺̳̥͚̀͊̍͛̃̅̚ ̴̨̢̣̯̰̗̳̼̂͝J̸̥̝̈́̓o̴͚̦͚̅̿̀͘͘ͅh̸̜̘̤͎̯͉̗͉͌̇̉̉͊ͅͅn̷̳̋͗̂̽̆ṋ̸̩͔̫̻̺̭͉̱̙͌y̴̱̌͊͠ ̷̡̢̨̡̯̩̱͇̖̍͆̎͋͗̿̆̕ 

_._

_._

_Ṟ̵̢̧̣̻͉̗͙̇ͅo̵̬̹͍̞̾̇̋̄_ _bert John Linder._

* * *

Johnny thought it was only flesh that rots. He was w̴͕̓r̶͙͝ö̷̮́n̷̟͂g̵͖̈́. 

Wherever they were, data was decaying before him. It was both frightening and beautiful to watch. The beauty ended when Alt suddenly disappeared, and he was left alone, abandoned in this hellscape. 

For the first time in a long time, **h̶̆** **̻e** **̸** ̧͌ **̸͔̒w** ̸ **̦̂** **i** **̶͍̉s** **̷̦̈h** **̶̙͑e** **̶̝͐d̴** ̧̑ ̷̲͌ **V̵** ͔̂ ̴̻̂ **w̵͑** **ͅa** **̵̺̆s̵̹̏ ̸̱̏h̶̞͘e̵̫͊r̵̺͑e** ̶͙͗.̴̱̏ 

* * *

T̵̠̗̳̅̈́ǫ̷̭͛͜͜ ̵̢͕͑͂̏̕s̸̤͗̏̎ê̵̠̬̳̚̚ē̵̛͇̱͖ ̵͕̲͖͠a̶̟̦͉̱͌̓̕ ̷̧̣̇͂͌̽w̶̳͔͇̋̎̃̈o̸̡̟̅̿̑r̷̖̋l̸̗͍̮̫͝d̴̡͍́́̃ ̶̯̖͛̄͜i̵̙̰̘̐̋ṇ̶̟̹̈́͝ ̸̛͕̌̀ȁ̵̛̼̙̅̌ ̵̩̅g̸͈̏̒ȑ̷̩̳͕͎̌ä̶̧̹̃͜i̵̡̖̪̯͆̉ṉ̴̎̓ ̶͖̤̝͒̂̓͠o̵̠͔͑ͅf̵̡̗͉̆ ̴̳̙̖͌s̶̬̭̝͙͌͋͠a̴̭͔͗̌ͅn̷̤͑͊͝d̷͈̔,̶̣̦̱̉͛͆ͅ ̴̩̅̏ả̷̞͌̀͝n̸̲̦̦͍̉̾͠d̵̯͛ ̴͔͓͙̺͛͗̎ȁ̷͇̀̽̒ ̴̫̓h̴̬͇̓̈̀̓e̶̙͒́̐͠ȃ̴̛̱̺͗̚v̸̛̜̂ͅě̶̛̱̙͛͘n̵̛͉͙̺̓̆͝ ̴̮̈́̊͆̓ĩ̶̤̝̙̏̄̊n̸̢̦̓̕ ̸̨̗̤̿ͅä̸̞̤ ̸̡͍̥̇̑̿w̷̥͆̅ḯ̶͓̺͌l̸͕͇̠͕̿̐͆d̸̜̍f̸̲̎͛͠ľ̶͈̇o̷͍̹̝̖̔w̴̺͚͎̖̔e̸̻̱͗̋̿̊r̴͇͍̦̒.̴͜ 

̵̨͓̖̩̒ 

̶̯͎̣̪̅͛T̷̨̢͕͑̾ŏ̵̜̘̭̯̚ ̵̩̦͈͍̿̕h̷͚̩͖͒̍o̴̟̔̎͠ḷ̸̈́̃̒̚d̶̪̭̅̽̑͠ ̵̳̓i̵̜̠̽̏̐̊ǹ̴̲̦̋͒f̷̻͇̳̈́ȋ̷̗̝͈͎́̽n̴̹͠i̶̘̖̖͚͘̕t̴̰͕̲͍͐y̶̗̱̣̍͝ ̸̨̛͓͕͌̍̒i̷̥̫̗̅̋n̵͓̪͕͐ ̵̰̱̖̌̃̿t̵̘̝͛̒͝ȟ̴͚͇̟ȇ̵̢̕͝ ̴̬̌p̵̭͉̔a̶̩͍͚̽ļ̴͎̟̈m̷̩̩̿̏ͅͅ ̸̡̗͍̹̌̿͝ỏ̷̘̻͔̞͝f̸̟͖̅ ̸͙̦̈̔y̴̻̮̟͗͋̌ȯ̷̢̗͂͝u̶̘̓r̶͉̯̳̚ ̷̨̞̯̜̓̐͘͠ĥ̶̭͖̚ą̷̳̣̈n̴̥̓d̵̹̈́.̸̤͂̆ 

̶̣̥̈́̊̽͐ 

̸̝̲̻̐͠A̶̝̣̗̒n̵̗͘ ̶̓ **̛͈̺͂̄ȩ̸̱͆t̴̅̐̀̌͜e̸͈͎͉̓̈́r̴̡͎̻͑ņ̶̢̘̜͌̅̓** **i** **̷̧͔͌̒̇͜t̵̮͙̔͝y̷͌̉͑͗** ̝̞ ̴̢̩͘ȉ̵͈̫͚͚͐n̶͙̦̅̒ ̷͉̺͉͑̌̚a̸̲͉͒̎ͅn̶̫̬͇̳̾͐ ̴̢̛̞͔͛h̸̢͇̰̦̏o̵̦̣̿ǘ̵͙̌̈́͆r̵̺̖̗̞̀̐̆͝.̷͖̗̾̀̍̔ 

* * *

There are pockets of clarity, times where Johnny felt more put together – more _himself –_ rather than shards of data scattered in a sea of ones and zeros. Sometimes, he could string up a thought or two. A whole fucking sentence if he really tried. 

But never to this extent. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he was so coherent, so _present_ , that he was almost too scared to open his eyes. 

That made him pause. He had no body...no fucking eyelids to even open in the first place. Yet... 

He opened his eyes, and for the third time in his existence he could see again. 

“W-where am I?” 

A juddering cough bubbled up from his throat, and he lurched as he rolled over his side to vomit whatever nastiness came up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, metal touched flesh, and he stared at the hand which gave him his namesake. 

“ _Fuck._ ” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for your interest in this fic!
> 
> This is the prelude, and I promise that the next chapters will be much longer going forward, ranging between 3k to 5k words. Don't worry! The glitch text isn't going to be as heavy in the future either!
> 
> Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts. I'll see you in the next chapter!


End file.
